


For a Reason

by airspaniel



Category: Chronicles of Narnia (Movies)
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-06-02
Updated: 2008-06-02
Packaged: 2017-10-15 06:01:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/157743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/airspaniel/pseuds/airspaniel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fighting, and something to fight for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For a Reason

**Author's Note:**

> I should probably feel guilty about this, but I don't. For [](http://cerebel.livejournal.com/profile)[**cerebel**](http://cerebel.livejournal.com/), who enables me without even knowing that she's doing it, [](http://visiblemarket.livejournal.com/profile)[**visiblemarket**](http://visiblemarket.livejournal.com/), who merrily joined the crew of my boat of wrong, and [](http://sparkism.livejournal.com/profile)[**sparkism**](http://sparkism.livejournal.com/), because she asked.

Peter was huddled against the stone wall, head down and back bent as if he carried the entire weight of Narnia on his shoulders. In a very real way, he suspected he did, and the load felt no lighter for the loss of life that he had caused.

That Caspian had caused. If he had stayed to the plan, had not let Miraz distract him with head games and ancient history... Did it matter who killed whom, as long as people were dead?

Perhaps not, but he was still furious at the Telmarine prince. Had been furious, even as he went back into the fray to find him; to see that Caspian made it out safe and whole by his side.

For Susan, he told himself. Because Susan wished it to be so.

It was a flimsy excuse, but it was enough. Enough to let him feel his anger, pure and strong and undiluted. To feel his regret and sorrow, unmarred by the relief he felt on the other side of the hellish gate, as eyes as deep and dark as the caves themselves stared into his, tortured and betrayed, but alive.

He threw his fists against the wall, feeling the rock scrape his battle-sensitive flesh. His people were dead, would all die; and there was nothing that would save them.

Not even kings and queens.

"Peter?" His name echoed to him from the halls and his stomach flipped, adrenaline beginning to once again rise in his veins as that voice sought him out. He didn't turn to look, merely stayed braced against the wall, feeling the sting as the dust and sweat sank into the damaged skin of his hands.

"Go away," he commanded, voice level even as his body thrummed with tension. "I have nothing to say to you."

"Peter," Caspian repeated, close now; Peter could feel the heat of his body, smell the leather, the sweat, the blood, and he wanted...

"Go. Away." He drew himself to his full height, shoulders regally thrown back, but he would not turn his face from the wall. At length there was a soft shuffle, as boots shifting against the dirt; and Caspian stepped away but did not leave.

"You should have let me have him. You should not have wasted so much time."

Peter was flying before the last syllable had escaped the prince's lips, tackling him roughly to the dirt and pinning him there with the weight of his body; hands clenched around blood-stained leather as he shoved his shoulders down.

"No," he spat, an ugly and violent sound. "I should have left you there! Left you with the filth where you belong, and then you'd... Then we'd..." His voice broke and he swallowed hard, choking back the sob that threatened. "Then they might still be alive."

Caspian struggled against the hold, wrenching his arms up to retaliate, but Peter kept him down; clenching strong hands around his wrists and keeping them fast.

"Perhaps they would," Caspian hissed, low and dangerous. "But perhaps not, and perhaps you are only blaming me because the fault is yours."

Peter's grip tightened, and he snarled, pushed past the point of guilt and questions, into that wild place where thought held no quarter. Caspian must have seen this, for something in his face changed, a subtle softening of the eyes that spoke nothing of pity, but everything of understanding.

"None can know what may have occurred, and there will always be that which we desire to change." His voice, too, was softer; somehow soothing to the aching knot in Peter's chest. "All that we can do now is plan our next maneuver, and do our best to ensure that the past does not repeat itself."

"Do our best," Peter parroted, letting his head hang once more. "And what if our best isn't good enough? What then? What if all of this is for nothing?"

For a long moment there was silence, the echoing dark of the caverns still and oppressive. Peter held his breath, heartbeat roaring in his ears, a pulse beating a gentle tattoo against his hands; and he realized all at once where he was, and whom he still held trapped beneath him. His hands relaxed their grip, drawing back down Caspian's arms, and he should go, he should _move_ , he should do anything other than look up and...

Caspian's eyes were darker than ever, and Peter was instantly caught. He stared helplessly as Caspian leaned up, resting his forehead against Peter's own.

"That is also something we cannot know," he said, breath ghosting over Peter's face, his lips, sending curling tendrils of warmth through his entire body. "But we must try. We must keep trying, Peter. It is all we have."

It was so natural then, so easy to turn so slightly and bring their lips together; the soft touch setting Peter's nerves alight. He drew back carefully, aware that he might have overstepped his bounds, but he didnt get far. Caspian reached up, cupping the nape of his neck tenderly and pulling him back, opening his mouth to take Peter in.

Peter sighed into the kiss, a shudder of breath that let spill all of his fear, his anger, his bone-deep sorrow. Caspian took that as well, his hand cradling Peter's head; long fingers carding through golden hair as he used his lips and tongue to give what absolution he could, even as he sought it for himself.

They only parted to breathe, quick and shallow, and Peter was surprised to find that he was crying. Before he could retreat again, Caspian's hand was there, his sword-callused thumb wiping his tears away, and when Peter could bring himself to let their eyes meet he saw that the prince's were as red-rimmed and tear-stained as his own.

"Caspian," Peter gasped, sliding his hand back up his forearm and further to twine their fingers together. There they stayed as the boys lost themselves in each other once again, the whole of the universe narrowed to this lonely corner; the touch of their hands, the slick heat of their mouths, and a singing feeling that was very like hope warming the dark.

And for the first time since the war began, Peter believed there might be something truly worth fighting for.  



End file.
